Page 44 of How To Tackle A Crush

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It slows. Wobbles. Stops neatly against my shoe.

I stare at it.

It stares back. (I am aware balls do not stare. It feels like it.)

Across the pitch one of the players notices.

“Oi! Love!” someone shouts. “Send it back!”

Another voice joins in. “Go on! Give us a pass!”

I look instinctively for Jack.

He is still twenty metres away, deep in conversation, completely unaware I am about to ruin his professional reputation.

Right.

Fine.

I can do this.

I have legs. I understand the basic concept of kicking.

How hard can this be?

I take a small step back like I’ve seen players do. Then another. This is probably already too much preparation. One of the lads clocks this immediately.

“She’s lining it up like a free kick!” someone laughs.

“Don’t overthink it, just tap it, love!” another calls.

Tap it.

Yes.

Tap it.

I swing my foot.

Immediately I know this is wrong.

Instead of a neat, controlled pass, the ball rockets off at an angle I definitely did not authorise. For a horrible second it looks like it might hit one of the players. But it misses him and finds a much worse target.

The ball smacks straight into the coach Jack has just walked over to, hitting him on his bold spot with a sound that makes everyone wince in perfect unison.

For a split second everything freezes.

Then the laughter starts.

Not cruel. Just the kind of laughter that erupts when something unexpected and mildly painful happens to someone who is clearly going to survive it.

The coach straightens slowly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Well,” he says, turning around, “that’s one way to get my attention.”

“I amsosorry,” I say, hurrying towards them before my brain has caught up with my legs. “I genuinely was not aiming at you.”

“That’s what worries me,” he says, grinning.

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